


Patron Saint

by karkatfreckles



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Grimdark, Meteor Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karkatfreckles/pseuds/karkatfreckles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since your grimdark expedition you’ve felt strange. Even though you’d achieved god tier and become a certified Seer of Light, returning to normality had been difficult. Sometimes you would wake with a film of chilled perspiration on your skin. You could see tendrils of black fading from your pale skin, coiling into the air like the many reaching arms of the tentacled monstrosities that had held your mind so tightly. Your golden hair and nightclothes would stick to you in a state of dishevelment and you would be grateful that no one was around to hear your ragged, frightened gasps.</p><p>And every time you realize that you have shuffled out of your room in the middle of the “night” with enough sweat to make your clothes stick to your body and your hair cling to your face to make your bedhead all the more charming. You wonder if this is how moths must feel when they get to a lamp and can only bump against the illuminated bulb for hours on end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Book Light

It was like coming off a drug. Or… at least what you’d heard about coming off drugs. You had never been partial to recreational drug use and you can’t say you’ve had any of the consorts trying to pawn off some heroine to you. Though you think you vaguely recall John mentioning the salamanders on LOWAS trying to sell him things. You suppose if you find yourself on a bender, you should make LOWAS your first stop.

Ever since your grimdark expedition you’ve felt strange. Even though you’d achieved god tier and become a certified Seer of Light, returning to normality had been difficult. Nightly, you would wake with a film of chilled perspiration on your skin. You could see tendrils of black fading from your pale skin, coiling into the air like the many reaching arms of the tentacled monstrosities that had held your mind so tightly. Your golden hair and nightclothes would stick to you in a state of dishevelment and you would be grateful that no one was around to hear your ragged, frightened gasps.

And while the times you were awake were peaceful enough, when you were alone and sleep was imminent, you could almost swear you could feel traces of The Noble Circle on your brain. You could almost feel their tendrils in the darkest crevices of your mind and skull.

When you would wander out of your quarters on the meteor in the middle of the—what everyone had agreed to be considered as—night to venture to the bathroom to try and get some of the sweat off your face, you would find a soothing source of comfort. You would always see a faint light down one of the corridors and without your consent your feet would take you to it like a moth discovering a light bulb.

The light came in a humanoid form and you would always find yourself slightly uncomfortable when you encroached on her company without meaning to. Kanaya didn’t seem to need to sleep since becoming a rainbow drinker. You don’t think you’ve ever seen her sleep and she’s always in the library when everyone else is sleeping.

These encounters have become routine, the same questions, the same answers, the same everything. She would pause in her reading or sewing and would look up with a mixture of surprise and concern, regardless that these encounters happened almost nightly.

Tonight was another such night, where you waited for your panicked breaths to settle to normality before you clambered out of bed. You shudder at the feeling of the cold tiled floor beneath your bare feet and you can feel the goosebumps form on your skin, already clammy from your nightmares. You run your hand through your hair trying to tame some of the terrible bedhead before you stand up and shuffle out of your room while your mind boots up more slowly than a computer from the early 90s.

You open the door and began the gloomy trek through the hallways to the bathroom as you feel a headache pounding behind your eyes. As always, as you navigate you can see a light illuminating the hallway leading to the library. Just like every night you find yourself unable to resist following after it. You arrive blearily in the library, blinking around for a moment before letting your eyes settle on the light source. Your presence doesn’t go unnoticed and Kanaya stirs from her reading.

“Rose,” she asks, setting the book on her lap to look up at you from her seat. “Are you alright? You look unwell.”

And every time you realize that you have shuffled out of your room in the middle of the “night” with enough sweat to make your clothes stick to your body and your hair cling to your face to make your bedhead all the more charming. You wonder if this is how moths must feel when they get to a lamp and can only bump against the illuminated bulb for hours on end.

“Oh… Yes, I’m fine. I woke up to use the bathroom and I thought maybe someone had left a light on in here.” Your response is the same as it is every night and you’re not sure if it’s because the answer can no longer be construed as even remotely possible or if maybe Kanaya is tired of this jab at her similarities with a night light or something else entirely, but the rainbow drinker responds this time by closing her book completely and turning to look at you more properly.

Kanaya isn’t fooled. She never had been, but this was happening regularly enough that she couldn’t ignore her instincts to “meddle” anymore. “Rose, this has been happening every night. I hope you don’t think I’m so dull that I could not see every night you emerge in a very disheveled appearance. Are you sure nothing is wrong?”

You barely manage to repress a sigh. You yield, just a little bit. “I haven’t been sleeping well. That’s all.” Kanaya inclines an inquiring eyebrow and shifts on the small couch, making room for another person to sit, a silent invitation.

“I’ve noticed,” she responds with a subdued smile, veiling her concern with snark. The expression is lovely on her, you think. You can feel her invitation hanging in the air. You know she wants you to sit down and explain what it is that is waking you every night in a cold sweat and why you always shuffle down the hall and will stand there, staring at her in some sort of trance until she speaks to you.

You don’t know how to explain to her that, nearly a year since your descent, you can still feel traces of the horrorterrors on your brain. You don’t know how to tell her that you find a sense of comfort from the glow that radiates from her skin. You don’t pay attention to the thought that wonders if you would sleep better if she were with you while you slept. A night light to keep the horrorterrors away.

You’re not comfortable trying to act like you don’t wake up every night in a cold sweat with the Gods of the Furthest Ring caressing your brain like a boon, waiting to pilfer it. Instead, you artlessly shift the conversation away from yourself. “What about you? It seems to me like you spend your nights in here rather than sleeping in some obscure pile of objects.” Snark is always the best shield to hide behind.

“Since becoming undead, I’ve found I don’t need to sleep. I come here once everyone has gone to sleep.” The answer is as straightforward as you had expected it to be and more straightforward than you had wanted it to be. You know if you let the silence carry for too long she’ll ramble. Your sleep-addled brain, however, doesn’t feel any need to help you try to sort out something to say to fill the silence. As you expected, Kanaya fills the silence to avoid letting it become stale. “If it’s a problem I can find somewhere else to spend my evenings. Perhaps the light is what is waking you—“

“No!” You blurt the word before you can stop it from flying out of your mouth. You can feel your eyes unnecessarily wide in your skull and your pulse thunders at the thought of having to stumble out of your quarters in the night after another post-grimdark episode and not being able to find the glow of the rainbow drinker’s skin permeating the darkness of the meteor to bring you some sort of comfort. You can feel a blush paint your face, mortified by the outburst. Kanaya looks even more surprised than you had expected. “I mean, don’t trouble yourself.” You manage a smile, though it’s stifled by a yawn. It serves as an adequate excuse to retreat from the conversation before Maryam can drill you on the topic anymore and you retreat back to your room after exchanging goodnights.

As the door clicks shut behind you and you settle back into bed, a sense of calm you hadn’t noticed has fled you and anxiety has replaced it. You ignore the uneasiness and let it settle in your gut, to fester while you sleep restlessly. As you close your eyes to sleep, you can almost feel the Gods moving around in your brain. You pretend not to notice and after what feels like hours you manage to fall back into another fitful sleep.


	2. Relapse

It’s been over a year since you went grimdark. Even though Jack had killed the body that had become a vessel for the horrorterrors, when you awoke as your dream self you still went through a detox. Your skin had been slow to return to its pale hue and your words were sometimes clumsy. You would have to repeat yourself when you would say something in broodfester tongues rather than English. The worst was the fits, when your body would collapse in on itself as you were wracked with coughing and heaving. You would retch up mouthfuls of black tar that would hiss and eat through whatever you spat it onto. With trial and error, you found that sand neutralized the acidic properties of the tar and so you alchemized copious amounts of it to hack up the grimdark residue into.

You didn’t want the trolls to see the effects of the detox. You wanted Dave to see it even less. Sometimes you would have a relapse and your skin would give off tendrils of black light and then you were reeling as you retched up a lungful of tar. You couldn’t avoid interaction during that time, however. It took weeks to fully work out of your system and the fits were unpredictable. The only option was complete isolation, something rather undesirable for so long a period of time. Instead you would tote around crates of sand. There was always one near you because when you were wracked you couldn’t function, let alone navigate your sylladex.

You thought you had gotten through the detox, but as your party’s journey through the Furthest Ring dragged on, your nightmares got worse and the fits came back. The first one blindsided you, completely unprepared. You were working on the “game guide,” as Dave described it, with Kanaya and scanning through a large tome with aged, yellowed pages.

As your eyes scanned across one of the thousands of pages, you felt everything in your body tense. It was like when your body prepared to cough, but the action was always more painful and more violent. It wasn’t like trying to expel phlegm from your lungs. It was like trying to expel the marrow from your bones through nothing but the sheer force of the wracking of your entire being.

_s eer_

_S E E R C R E A T U R E O F L I G H T_

A voice screams and speaks and sputters and gurgles in your head. You feel something snake around your mind. A voice. Voices.

You barely have time to cautiously toss the book onto the nearby table before the horrendous coughing fit grips you like a vice, crushing the air from your lungs in rasps. Kanaya jumps at the sound of the heavy book hitting the table and you glimpse her wide eyes. Yellow sclera screaming against the pale glow of her skin before you buckle to the floor. You don’t think you have any of the sand in your sylladex. It doesn’t matter. You can’t move, let alone try to navigate it to retrieve some sand for you to retch into.

_C R E A T U R E O F L I G H T_

_escape_

_E S C A P E_

_the light_

If you could hear anything outside the pounding of blood thundering through your ears and your skull and the screaming words in your head, you would have heard Kanaya cry out with alarm as she dropped her own research material. You would have heard her shout your name as she darted around the large, book strewn table to come skidding across the floor on her knees at your side. You don’t know if a rainbow drinker’s heart still beats, but if it does you imagine hers is racing. You can dully hear her voice shouting through the din. For you, for Dave, for someone, for help.

_n o light fo r ..._

_N O... L ... S E E R_

The voices devolve into static and hissing and then silence. The closer the Sylph is to you, the less prominent the voices. But the coughing doesn’t stop, isn’t abated. You’re heaving and retching and you think you can taste blood but your head is spinning and starved for oxygen.

And then, as soon as it feels like you might pass out because you can’t stop hacking and retching and heaving long enough to inhale, you feel something dislodge and then it’s in your mouth. The familiar sensation of tar welling in your mouth is unpleasant but pales in comparison to the acidic burn of the grimdark phlegm.  There’s no sand, no basin, no precautions. You can only spit the tar onto the floor or let it eat a hole through your mouth. Fortunately Kanaya isn’t in front of you and you don’t have to try and dodge around the troll to spit the tar onto the floor. The tar is followed by mouthfuls of salt water that you can only weakly vomit as your body trembles in the aftermath of this sudden relapse.

After the fit finally subsides you can only lie on the floor with your sides heaving, only able to focus on breathing again. You can hear the rainbow drinker say something but trying to understand words is impossible when your brain is so starved for air. You can feel her cold hands on you, moving you away from the hissing tar; but too soon her cool touch is gone and you groan weakly because it felt so good against your heated skin. It seems she was prepared because suddenly she’s holding a key that hadn’t been there a moment ago and then she has a large crate full of sand and she’s pouring it over the tar that is sizzling and smoking on the floor, already having eaten away part of the tile. The smoking stops as it’s smothered but the area won’t be safe to touch for several days.

You can hear footsteps arriving in the library and the first voice you hear besides Kanaya’s is Dave’s. He’s there and you can hear him but you can’t understand him because now it feels like your head is full of lead and for the first time since ascending to god tier you’ve felt the Gods’ tentacles caress your sanity while conscious.

You can hear Karkat shouting but his voice has that pitch to it that you’ve learned means he’s not angry but simply using anger to hide more fragile emotions. You feel Dave’s hands. You see Kanaya standing aside with a look of festering worry on her features. Your eyes lock onto her gray-green ones and you know your eyes are probably the only part of you that seems lucid. You hear her say your name, see her black lips part as she combats with the parts of her that want to come closer and the parts that want to stay back, out of the way.

Your skin is coated in sweat and your hair sticks to your face awkwardly. You can hear Dave trying to talk to you, you can understand your name but other words are too hard to grasp right now. You force your eyes to break away from Kanaya’s to look up at Dave and you can see relief in his eyes behind his shades. You can see concern settle in as you fail to respond in any other way.

You want to lie down and sleep off this migraine that’s settled in your entire skull. You move, trying to get your arms underneath you to lift yourself off the cold floor, you’re too weak. You give up quickly and close your eyes, too tired to stay awake anymore. You can hear Dave raising his voice and you can’t help wondering if he realizes how uncool it is to raise your voice.

You can see light from behind your eyelids, filtering through the thin skin and making your vision maroon rather than black. You can feel hands lifting you and nearby you hear Kanaya’s voice and you want to bask in the light of her skin. But you can’t say it because you’ve slipped into unconsciousness and the light is lost in the sea of darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reworked this chapter because it was really mediocre and I hated it more than life itself. This is the first but probably not the last time you'll see me do this sort of thing.


	3. Breath

You sit up awkwardly, waking for the first time since your relapse. It’s difficult. You’ve been swaddled in blankets like a Light burrito. The first thing your eyes focus on is a familiar source of light that is seated next to you. Your struggle to sit erect draws her attention from her book. As you look at her face you can see surprise and concern stitch together flawlessly over her features.

“Oh, good,” she marks her place in her book before closing it and setting it aside, “you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Are you responsible for this?” It’s the first response that comes to mind as you struggle to free one of your arms from the cocoon of blankets. Your voice is weak and rasps thickly. Your tongue is dry and makes your words feel heavy and clumsy. You think you can faintly taste blood in your mouth.

Kanaya manages one of those subdued smiles, the ones that make you think about just how beautiful she is, as she laughs softly. “That was Karkat’s doing. Everyone agreed that we should take turns monitoring you while you rested and during his last shift, he deemed this a necessary development.” Just how long have you been out that your friends had to take turns making sure you didn’t choke on tar and die in your sleep? The rainbow drinker can see the question on your features because she responds before you can try to rasp the words out. “You’ve been asleep for three days. I volunteered for the night shifts since I don’t require sleep.”

Vaguely, you recall stirring in your sleep as you were wracked by fits. You had been too tired to wake fully, but you can remember the pain and breathlessness. You remember hearing Karkat or Dave curse as you suddenly doubled over and were suddenly retching desperately to dislodge another lungful of grimdark phlegm.

“I’m supposed to tell Dave when you’ve woken up.” You can feel anxiety brook in your chest as the rainbow drinker begins to move off the bed and you’re reaching after her before you can stop yourself. You look at your hand which is weakly holding onto Kanaya’s forearm as if pleading. The rainbow drinker looks as confused as you do and the two of you look to each other at the same time. You feel something electric run through you as your eyes lock.

You manage to croak out lamely, “There’s no reason to wake him up. It would be better to let him sleep. Could you bring some food and water for me, please?” You release Kanaya’s arm, trying to act as if you hadn’t just reached out for her like a drowning man reaches for a life preserver. She looks torn, as if not wanting to disobey Dave’s request but also seeing the logic in your own. You don’t doubt that your ectobrother has probably been worried but you don’t see what good waking him in the middle of the “night” could do.

A strong part of you doesn’t want her to leave at all but your mouth feels parched and you want to rinse the taste of dried saliva and blood from your mouth. Hunger grinds your entire stomach. You suppose you could bear to be separated from her calming light long enough for her to do that much. More than anything, you just don’t want her to bother Dave. There’s no point in bothering the Knight and you know if he comes in she might not follow for fear of trespassing.

After debating for several moments it seems Kanaya finally manages to reach a conclusion. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to let him sleep. I’ll bring you something to eat and drink. Do you have any preferences?”

“Something bland. Crackers would be nice.” You feel the need to specify. You’re afraid what the rainbow drinker might return with if you don’t. After jogging Kanaya’s memory on what a cracker is—“Oh, salted sustenance squares.”—she  leaves the room to retrieve your food. You manage not to reach out to stop her but once she has gone, her incandescence with her, you feel a strange sensation well within you.

Instead of dwelling on the sensation, you instead focus on trying to figure out what happened since your collapse. Why did Karkat feel the need to tightly swaddle you in blankets? Why do you recall succumbing to semi-conscious fits while in Dave and Karkat’s company, but not Kanaya’s? Why do you feel anxious when the rainbow drinker’s luminescence is not nearby? Why do you crave it so desperately? Part of you feels guilty knowing that Dave has been worried. It’s one thing for the Knight to be worried, it’s quite another for it to be apparent to those around him, especially the trolls. They aren’t always as keen on picking up the small signals that are blatantly obvious to you.

As you wait you manage to wriggle your other arm free and adjust your pillow so you can lean against the wall. You still feel a bit weak and it’s a relief to rest against the wall and close your eyes for just a moment.

_S E E R O F L I G H T_

_se e r  of  l igh t_

_Th e  N  O  B L E  C  I  R C L E asks D E  M AND S   a ud ie nce_

You choke, try not to cough. Try to fight it. You open your eyes. You don’t see your room on the meteor. You see tentacled monstrosities and hellish demons. You see the horrorterrors and their millions and millions of eyes are on you and one hisses and screeches and it feels like your blood is replaced with water and its frigid cold and you can’t move. When you inhale you feel water in your lungs and you can’t fight it.

You cough. You regret it. You’re doubling over and your raw throat is painful but not as painful as the wracking coughs. The heaving and choking and you can only paw around blindly for a sand box which is undoubtedly nearby. It’s going to break loose soon, dislodge from your bones and the walls of your lungs and your mind. You feel like you’re going to snap in two.

You almost manage to groan out a plea for help but your coughing refuses to subside. You’re sure the sound of you coughing like a dying man will probably herald some assistance soon.

_W E  ARE   NO T  PA T I ENT_

_WI L L NO T_

_WILL N  OT WAIT WI L L  NOT_

_S E E R—_

Their shouting is cut off when suddenly you are blinded. You feel cold hands on you and they are trying to comb the hair away from your eyes to see you. Where there were voices there is now only static crackling in your mind. It slowly dissolves into silence.

You’re no longer floating in an ocean in a void surrounded by horrorterrors. You’re in your room, on the meteor, with no one but Kanaya. You’re coated in sweat and you can’t do anything but breathe for a moment. Nothing tore loose, there is no tar, there is no mind splitting pain.

You can hear her speaking frantically and this time you retain your understanding of language rather than letting your mind blank entirely.

“Rose! Rose! Can you hear me? Oh thank goodness.” You finally manage to summon the energy to look up at her and you can see the fear in her eyes. You find it fascinating. Kanaya is fierce. But it’s obvious this is something she doesn’t understand. She knows she can’t pull out her chainsaw and fix everything this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to update at least once a week with this fic. I've been really busy with work and shit, but here's somethin' for y'all. Thanks to everyone for their support and for reading. I put a lot of effort into this thing. Here's to you. <3


	4. Drug of Choice

You had never been partial to recreational drug use.

Wasn’t that something you had said? You can’t remember through the slurry of alcohol in your system. It’s been nearly a week since you woke from your terrible grimdark relapse. Dave had showed up early for his Rose babysitting shift. Unable to sleep, though he’d never admit it. It’s not cool to be worried about your ectosibling whom had come down with a case of eldritch throes. He had arrived to find you holding Kanaya’s cold hand over your eyes and forehead to stifle your screaming headache.

You didn’t mention the voices you heard screaming and muttering in your head as you choked on tar and salt water. You didn’t know how to describe what you heard while you were doubled over, retching like you were on your deathbed. Much less what you saw.

You remember the realization that these episodes could not kill you. At least not permanently, anyway.  As a god tier, there was no justice or heroism in choking on grimdark phlegm and dying. You could only vaguely wonder if you did die, perhaps you would be cured of the traces of the Gods upon resurrection. You have a hard time believing that anyone on this meteor has any particular interest in killing you.

You’d had to explain to Dave that, no, you were not trying to commune with the horrorterrors anymore. Thank you very much. You could see his muted trepidation when you could only theorize that you were relapsing because you were so close to the Gods of the Furthest Ring. You realize he had been hoping you would know why you were relapsing and had been relying on it as an anchor in all of this doubt. To know you only had a theory was a crucial set back.

Since recovering you found yourself trying to find ways of blocking out the horrorterrors. Your mind was quiet enough when you were with Kanaya and, more specifically, her comforting phosphorescence. But when she wasn’t around you could hear them screeching and howling in your brain and beating at your skull.

 

_A UDIE NCE_

_come s e e r_

_TH E CI RCL E  DE MAN DS AU DI ENCE_

They are always demanding audience, always beckoning you, demanding you come to them. You can feel them snake around your brain, trying to find a stranglehold so they can pull you down again. You are all the more valuable to them now that you are nigh immortal.

You found that you don’t need Kanaya to coddle you. You found a friend in alcohol. After five or six drinks, when you’re so buzzed you can’t see straight, the Gods are more or less put on mute. You can’t hear them or feel them. They can’t get under your skin and so you find a great deal of solace in the substance.

You never tell anyone the reason you’ve picked up the nasty habit. You don’t want to worry Dave. Apparently you’re more comfortable with seeing him disappointed than worried. Perhaps because it’s harder to see the disappointment through the bottom of your wine glass.

You sleep harder than you have in a long time. But no amount of booze can keep you sauced twenty-four hours a day. After you pass out, after you sleep off the alcohol, it’s always the same. It’s always at this time, when you’re unconscious and sober, that the Noble Circle sees their chance and lash out like coiled vipers from the darkness. They strike harder and faster than before you picked up this habit. Maybe the hangover makes you more malleable, but they hit you like a truck and suddenly their tentacles are covered in spines and they sink into the meat of your sanity and are harder than ever to shake off.

 

_COUNC IL AUDIE  NCE C OME_

_V ES SEL O F THE G ODS  OF THE NO BLES_

_N OBLE C I RCLE AUD I ENCE VE SSEL_

_VASSAL_

_S E E R O F L I G H T_

You wake up, panting and huffing. Your throat is hoarse and painful and you can feel the Gods’ arms slithering back into the deepest corners of your mind again to hide and wait. There is always sand nearby for you to heave into. You’re doubled over, leaning over the edge of the bed, over the sand, in case any tar breaks loose. It doesn’t. Instead you weakly vomit but your bile is salt water. You can see the ebony tendrils fading from your skin. You wait for the illness to subside for several minutes before forcing yourself to sit up. You sit there for a moment, waiting for your heavy breathing to even out. You wheeze and rasp weakly in the silence.

You can’t go back to sleep. You can feel them coiled in the corners of your mind. They’ve changed tactics. Rather than battering you constantly, they wait for when you’re most susceptible and then they sucker punch you. You can feel them just past the pounding hangover.

You force yourself out of bed. You either need a drink or Kanaya’s phosphorescence. You can feel your heart racing and you just want so desperately to be free of the horrorterrors’ grasp. You stumble out of your room and down the hall. As you move you’re realizing that you’re covered in sweat because your hair and clothes are stubbornly clinging to you. You’re sure you look a mess but feeling the Gods slithering in your mind makes it difficult to care.

Relief washes over you as you travel the corridor and are greeted by the rainbow drinker’s glow. As you near you can hear the Gods hiss and crackle. You can feel them slither out of your mind and for the first time in days you feel at ease. You can’t stop yourself from squinting however as the light makes your headache pound even harder. She is hand stitching some garment or another and you find yourself adoring the expression of enjoyment and concentration she has before she is distracted by your arrival.

She rests the fabric in her lap and looks up at you from her seat. Her expression is different from before your relapse, when you would shuffle out of your room and follow after her light like a moth. Things are more complicated, her worry has so many more layers. You know Kanaya is as unhappy with your drinking habit as Dave is, though she is much less vocal about it. She knows it’s not her place to scold you for spending more time drunk than sober.

“Rose,” She sounds tired, you think. “Are you alright? You look terrible. Has something happened?”

You realize you’re standing near her, staring mutely. She shifts to place her feet on the floor, rather than stretched out on the cushions of the couch. Again, a silent invitation, but you’re not sure if even she realizes it. She seems genuinely surprised by your appearance which is apparently quite dreadful if it’s making a troll vampire gawk.

You’re tired. To your bones, to your very core, you are unbelievably tired. When was the last time you had gotten any real sleep? You find yourself dropping onto the couch next to Kanaya. You feel defeated and it must show because you can see her features soften. She looks almost sad and you wonder how terrible and pathetic you must look for her to wear an expression like that.

“Rose?” You don’t want to fight it anymore, act like you’re better than begging for her to be your own personal night light.

You heave a sigh and you can hear your breath tremble slightly. “I’m just so, so tired…” You don’t stop yourself from resting your head against her arm. Her cold skin feels wonderful against your feverish forehead.

You can hear her trying to talk to you, ask you questions, but you fall asleep so quickly you can’t understand what she’s saying. Everything is dim but her phosphorescence permeates even behind your eyelids. Your sleep is free of the Gods for the first time in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to my lovely proofreader snowanoki for helping me. Now I won't rework chapters 50 times after posting them! c:


	5. Break

You’ve started avoiding Kanaya and Dave when you’re inebriated. Even when you’re three sheets to the wind, you can see their disappointment and concern as they hound you more than ever about the self-destructive behavior. Maybe it’s because you’ve stopped bothering to use a glass and drink straight from the wine bottle. You drink until you break, every day. The breaks are usually a descent into an absurd happiness where you effectively ignore all your problems. Sometimes, though, you sink into crippling depression. More than once Dave has found you on the floor of some random room, crying, holding the bottle haphazardly over yourself with red wine stains on your robes.

Dave knows you’re most receptive to Kanaya, though he doesn’t understand why. The past few times he’s found you like this he’s sent her after you. That’s how you ended up in this particular situation, lying face down with your head in her lap, clutching your wine like a lifeline and her hand carding delicately through your hair.

“I think she would be very proud of you, Rose.” The words hit you harder than the horrorterrors could ever hope to. You feel your shoulders seize as you can’t stop the newest wave of silent tears from running out of your eyes and dampening the red fabric of her skirt. You want to take a swig off the bottle, to numb it all a little more. You don’t want to remove your face from the troll’s lap. The knowledge that your tear stained face would be fully visible makes you uncomfortable. You feel her other hand stroke the back of your neck while the other continues to weave carefully through your hair.

“Ganyama—Kangyana… Ga… Kan… Kanaya…” You can barely say the Sylph’s name. Between the booze and the grief, formulating sentences is almost impossible. “What en tha werld es there ta be proud of?”

Her hands become more confident in their ministrations, as if hoping by just petting your hair you would become more receptive to her counsel. “Well, you are a very beautiful human, if I might be so bold. You are a fully realized Seer of Light. You managed to find a solution to your party’s null session and even managed to chart the exact course through the Furthest Ring we would need to take. I certainly don’t know of anyone else who could have accomplished all of that.”

Perhaps it’s the alcohol, but none of these things bring you any comfort. “I wass such a tarrible daugter, Kangaya. I never liked it wen she’d drink, but look at the pot callin’ the kettle black. I was always playing passive aggressive mined games with her. An’ bafore I could try ta make amends…”

The rainbow drinker doesn’t try to dismiss your protests or hush you. She listens quietly, patiently, never pausing her hands. Perhaps that’s why you’re more receptive to her than Dave. Dave will often cut you off and try to completely remove the train of thought. It’s an effective method for some, but for you it is irritating. You feel her hand on your back move away and then the bottle is being removed from your hand and you don’t try to hold on. You don’t need to fracture your mind when her light is around. Her luminescence completely frees you of the Gods while the wine can only make it harder for them to get any hold on you.

She’s patient. Incredibly, impossibly patient. Neither of you are in any hurry. You’re tired. You know you’ll pass out soon. You feel bad knowing Kanaya’s skirt is undoubtedly soaked with tears at this point. You always feel bad about it. It never seems to bother her. She wants to say something, she wants to fill the silence. But she doesn’t know how. She’s always willing to listen but mothers are something she doesn’t know much about. The whole parent concept seems to confuse the trolls. Which is fair, because the whole lusus concept is just as absurd to you.

You feel sleep settling in and you think you can see the cracks in your mind.

 

_OU R  PAT I ENCE HA S WO RN T H IN_

_S E E R_

_come no w_

You wake suddenly, violently. You lean over the edge of your bed and cough lungfuls of salt water into the crate of sand. You gasp desperately for breath but you get only a small reprieve before you’re wracked again and it feels like your bones are shattering. You cough desperately and your arms can no longer support you, so you lay on your side, draped over the edge of your bed like a ragged pelt. Your skin is dark and the ebony tendrils reach like smoke into the air. They do not dissipate. It feels like there’s something in your head and it is irritated by your weakness.

You heave and choke and you wish you could die if only it would stop. You can’t. Your lungs feel like they might collapse before finally you feel it break loose. Suddenly you’re retching tar into the sand and it feels like it won’t stop. When it finally does, you’re vomiting more salt water. The whole attack lasts almost ten minutes.

You can’t move. You can barely breathe, your weak wheezing filling the silence of the dark room. Your skin slowly, very slowly, pales. You hear the Gods whispering and screaming in your head. They’ve almost got you. They know it. So long as the light—

 

_T HE LI G HT—_

doesn’t interfere, they’ll have you soon.

The door suddenly opens and you feel relief but the Gods are furious. They beat against your skull and your eyes and they can only be enraged that their vessel doesn’t obey.

 

_KILL IT RIP IT DESTROY IT KILL IT MURDER IT SNUFF IT OUT_

Kanaya peeks into the room to check on you. You hear her gasp as she realizes you’ve had another eldritch relapse and suddenly her light is filling the room and it feels like the Gods are trying to break out of your skull and kill her themselves.

 

_RIPITDESTROYITKILLITMURDERITKILLIT_

_SEER_

She’s bright. Blindingly so. Has she always been so luminescent? It hurts your eyes and you can’t help but squint. The closer she gets the more painful the light is. It feels like your skin is burning and peeling and cracking. You try to groan or mumble something through your painful, raw throat but you realize that the words are not yours but those of the horrorterrors with their disgusting garbled tongues. Your voice is too weak and she doesn’t hear. Or she chooses not to.

Suddenly her hands are on you and the Gods flee your mind. Her skin is cold and you revel in the sensation as she lifts you back onto the bed. She no longer seems so bright. Your skin doesn’t burn and it feels like you can breathe again. You can hear her speaking frantically as she runs her cold hands over your heated face. She knows how much you love it, though neither of you will say it.

Slowly, slowly, you regain coherency. She feels the need to go and inform Dave of this most recent episode but you’re terrified of what will happen in her absence. The Noble Circle knows you are about to break and they are ready to receive you. You don’t know how to explain it to her so instead you can only plead desperately that she doesn’t leave. You don’t try to play it off for any other reason except that you’re scared and you don’t want her to go.

It’s your fear that seems to convince her. She has never seen you so desperately afraid. So she settles on the bed next to you and you settle your head in her lap again with her hand resting over your eyes. Your entire body aches and your breathing is rough. You faintly feel her free hand stroking your hair before you pass out again.

 

The Gods fill your head again. They scream and shatter everything in their path. They flood your mind and your lungs and the levee is going to break.

 

_COME S E E R_

_TH E N OB LE CIR CLE DEM AND S AU DIENCE_

_S E E R O F L I G H T_

 

When Kanaya returns to your room with Dave frantically in tow, you are gone.


	6. Angels and Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is going up so late guys. I've been a bit preoccupied and didn't have much time to write. Thanks for all your support and for reading. As always, huge thanks to my proofreader. Bless her soul.

They use your turmoil as a weapon, keeping a stranglehold on you. They hear the echoes in your mind and they turn your grief into anchors that make it impossible for you to break away. They eat your memories and taste your emotions like a fever dream. They keep you close. They lost you once and they don’t intend to lose you again.

They have plans for you. As much as they despise the light, they have too much to gain with you in their service. Their millions of eyes are sensitive to any and all light. They cringe even at the bright tangerine color of your robes, but they revel in the charcoal hue of your skin and the black tendrils that rise from it. You faintly remember being told what a wonderful asset a Seer of Light could be in a Sburb session. This was obviously not flattery, seeing as how the Gods of the Furthest Ring covet your abilities.

They want you to do many things but their greatest interest pertains to finding the Witch of Life in their bubbles. Not just any Witch of Life. They want you to find the alpha timeline Witch. The Gods don’t know where she is and you can’t help feeling like this is a fool’s errand. They keep you nestled in a writhing nest of their tentacles and eyes and teeth as they commune with you.

“How am I supposed to know if I find the right Witch?” Your words coil and bend in your mouth foreignly, speaking a language you never learned. You feel salt water in your lungs instead of air.

_w i t c h o f l i f e_

_must retrieve_

_BRING HER RETRIEVE_

_WITCHOFLIFE_

You don’t understand their motives for being so vague. They know how to discern the Witch but they choose not to elaborate. They keep you poised like a hooded falcon. They have motives, you can feel it, but you can’t figure it out. They can feel your irritation and confusion but they do not entertain it. Instead, they just continue to repeat in their garbled, imperfect tongues:

_BRING THE WITCH_

_the alpha_

_no I M P O S T E R S_

Their voices are like gravel and thunder and it feels like they’re carving rifts in your brain. You relent and then suddenly you are alone, floating in the vast openness of the Furthest Ring, surrounded by countless dream bubbles. In one of these bubbles is your target, a Witch of Life from the alpha timeline. They impose her image into your brain and it’s like it has been seared to the back of your eyelids.

There’s no rational plan of attack. You prefer not to do the math. There are countless timelines with countless dead troll girls living out their afterlives in countless dream bubbles. You jump in headlong and try not to let your head spin.

For a moment you can’t breathe. It feels like your chest is being crushed. The world within is bright. Blindingly, disgustingly bright. You hover far above, looking down on a painfully bright world. The sky is piercing white and the spiraling cathedrals that cover the ground reflect it like mirrors. The light is so bright it makes your entire skull ache and you feel like you might shatter. You feel the wretched sensation building again. You double over and cough horrendously and you can only cough and heave helplessly as mouthfuls of salt water and tar are expelled from your core.

It’s as you’re retching and vomiting that you see suddenly great winged forms streaking across the sky. They’ve begun circling you like raptors. They have no features aside from their fierce, gaping maws and their vast wings. They have no limbs, no eyes, no faces. They circle relentlessly, slowly tightening their paths getting closer and closer.

Suddenly a beam of blue and white light is screaming past you and the ivory creatures shriek and wheel away from it. Some stagger and fall before righting themselves. You follow the shot and far below you see a troll boy you don’t recognize. He has fins on the sides of his head like the Witch. He may not be from the alpha timeline, but he might be able to help you on your hunt.

He is dressed in painfully bright yellow clothes, a pair of ridiculous pantaloons included. There’s a purple streak through his hair and the pair of violet wings sprouting from his back are an identical color. He seems unhappy to see you approach. He raises his weapon again and aims, ready to blow a hole in your gut. You have your Thorns ready but not drawn. It would be easier to get answers if you weren’t forced to strife.

The troll pulls the trigger but his aim is off and you barely have to move to avoid being struck. You’re not sure if it was a warning shot or if maybe his aim is just that terrible. With aim like that you can only imagine he’s been shooting at barn doors and whales.

He has a set of sharp teeth bared in a grimace as he steadies his weapon again. “Stay away from me!” He has a peculiar accent, nothing like what you’ve heard from the other trolls. He says “away” with a strange repeated “w”—“aw-way.”  Fortunately for him you don’t particularly want to be near him. He _feels_ too bright. Everything about this place is splitting and painfully bright. Being this close makes you feel as if your flesh is being burned off and your retinas scream in agony.

“I’m looking for the Witch of Life.” His expression falters and he drops his rifle. You see a flurry of emotions sweep across his face. Remorse, pain, loneliness, and then he puts his guard back up. He hides behind a transparent mask, replacing grief with anger.

“What do you want with Fef?”

 

You take a break from being the eldritch girl. You decide to take some time to be the undead troll girl. You find yourself gripped with guilt and you suppose being able to understand Dave Strider isn’t helping. He isn’t employing human sarcasm and saying a million different things you don’t understand. Instead the Knight is wound up and scared.

“Tell me what happened again.” He’s trying not to pace. You can see it. You’re answering this question for the fifth time.

You manage not to take his questioning personally. You’re just as frightened as he is. “It’s just as I told you. I heard Rose coughing and came in to check on her. When I arrived she was lying limp in her bed, coughing horribly. Her skin was much like a troll’s. But there was a kind of… black smoke coming from her. After she stopped coughing it took several minutes for her skin to return to normal and when she tried to speak it was some strange language I’ve never heard before. I wanted to go immediately to alert you of the episode but she was terrified and begged me not to leave. So I waited until she had fallen asleep and came to seek you out. You are of course aware of what transpired thereafter. I led you back to her room and she was gone.” You try not to betray the discomfort you feel beneath the Knight’s agitated gaze. You curse yourself for not being able to stop yourself from picking at a hem on your skirt and shifting slightly. Guilt gnaws at your insides insistently.

Even with his shades you can see the strain on Dave’s face. Karkat and Terezi are present as well though, naturally, Gamzee is absent. Terezi is quiet. She understands even less than you about this whole grimdark business and how this is not the first time Rose has descended. Karkat, however, is less quiet about his lack of understanding. So instead he thinks out loud and expresses his frustration with wild abandon.

His arms are crossed haughtily across his chest. You can read Karkat much more easily than any book. He’s shifted his weight to rest mostly on one leg and his nose wrinkles just slightly with the effort of his grimace. If not for his crossed arms, you would think he was angry or offended. He’s not. He’s insecure and fearful. He hides it behind his shouting, “So what you’re saying is that Rose just up and left. Ditched us on this shit hole of a meteor because some omnipotent tentacle beasts floating around in paradox space told her to? That’s fucking great. The only reason we were even going anywhere was because she did her whole Seer thing to tell us exactly how fast and exactly when we needed to start traveling in which exact fucking direction.”

For the first time in several minutes, Terezi speaks up, “Karkat, calm down and shut up for a minute. Kanaya, you say Rose has never had any fits while you were watching her, right?” She is perhaps handling this situation the best. She’s kept a level head and you can’t see any signs of anxiety in her body language. Where Karkat is insecure and puffing himself up like a frightened meowbeast, Terezi is calm and logical.

She smells you nod in affirmation, “Correct.”

 “Meanwhile, during everyone else’s shifts,” Terezi continues, “her fits were unpredictable. One time she had one so bad Karkat even felt the need to make her a straightjacket out of blankets. It seems to me something about _you_ , Kanaya, was preventing her fits.”

Guilt frays at your edges. You had a feeling this had been true. You only ever heard about some of the episodes Dave, Karkat, and Terezi had witnessed and how they had been sure she was going to die this time for sure before she finally retched up some grimdark phlegm. You only ever saw the ends of the episodes which always promptly stopped shortly after your arrival.

Rose seemed to know it as well. Why else would she have been so terrified of your departure for any other reason? She had been clinging to you for months but never expressed why. You had been too blind and ignorant to understand.

“We’re going to find her.” Dave’s voice was frighteningly cold. Any rant Karkat may have been building up died before it began. Dave’s words weren’t a hope or a wish. They were a statement. The Knight was going to tear the Furthest Ring apart at the seams if he had to. They were going to find Rose. And you couldn’t deny that you had been thinking the same thing.


	7. Epicenter

Your encounter with the sea dweller had been informative, if not painful and tedious. His accent is irritating but the light— _the HOP E—_ is worse. Infinitely worse. Just being around him makes it feel like you are going to fracture. You are unnerved by the great wheeling creatures— _A NG ELS—_ that surrounded you upon arrival. Apparently the angels had been rather intent on killing him for quite a while. Your arrival seems to have created an anomaly. Instead they have focused their hunt on you, something he doesn’t understand.

“They’vve nevver activvely hunted after me before,” the troll explains to you. This is the second time you two have relocated since your arrival in the dream bubble. The angels have been haranguing you endlessly since your arrival and they have been desperate to get to you. You’ve been in the dream bubble for all of an hour. You think. Time is rather objective in the Furthest Ring and it’s probably easier to try to hold water in your hands than it is to keep track of time out here.

Upon your arrival, after first approaching the troll boy, you and he had withdrawn in one of the many cathedrals and you had begun the tedium of trying to get any information about your quarry. The angels have been whirling about outside restlessly before a mass of them shatters through one of the stained glass windows and throw themselves at you, maws wide and screaming. You draw your Thorns and release an onslaught of dark magic. The energies tear great rends through your aggressors, sending them screeching and wailing. They seem to become contaminated by the magic, which festers in their wounds. Black energy rapidly begins spreading through their corporeal carapaces before the angels fall to the ground, dead. You stand your ground while the sea troll behind you cowers behind a pew. The remaining angels shriek and circle, making feints and false charges to try to draw you out. You watch them patiently and wait before you lash out again. The Thorns erupt with energy like electricity, arcing from the end of the wands, forking and twisting to finally tear through an angel.

As the last one expires, you put away your Thorns and turn back to the troll. He is looking at you as if you had suddenly grown another head. That’s really saying something considering he had already been looking at you oddly since your arrival. The two of you relocate again. He begrudgingly tells you about the Witch you are looking for or, at least, his version of her. He tells you about her lusus, which was apparently a horrorterror. It suddenly makes a bit more sense as to why they want you to find her, though you don’t understand why it has to be the alpha timeline Witch.

Before he can finish telling you, the angels ambush again, another large party wheeling around you like a storm. You dispatch them before again the two of you relocate. You’re almost done here, but you won’t let these angels chase you out before you get what you need. He carries on about her endlessly. It’s pretty obvious that he’s crazy about her and you let him ramble because any information about her you can get will be helpful. And while the stories may not be applicable to the Witch—Fef—that you’re searching for, it is helping you get an understanding of what to expect.

You’ve been in this dream bubble for a few hours or a few minutes or a few years, you can’t say. However the angels have been quiet and it’s made you uneasy. You have divided your attention between listening to the troll boy and listening for the angels. They don’t keep you waiting much longer before you hear a terrible screeching roar. You see the sea dweller pale to a washed out, ashen gray. You don’t have time to puzzle out exactly what is happening before suddenly the roof of the cathedral is torn off like the top of a doll house.

Glowering down with six black eyes at you is what you realize is a denizen. It has six wings and you feel like a background character in a Godzilla movie. Your Thorns are instantly in your hands and you aim at the denizen as hundreds and hundreds of angels circle nearby, ready to strike. The black magic tears through Abraxas like a serrated knife. The wounds are devastating, but this is a denizen. It won’t go down as easily as the angels.

The angels begin to dive at you in droves and you can only hold so many off before they start to get to you. Abraxas is recovering after recoiling from the magic that is now festering in the wounds on his face. He opens his massive maw and you can see particles of light beginning to collect around his maw as he prepares some sort of catastrophic attack. You killed at least two dozen angels but there’s hundreds more ready to fill their places. They accost you with raking sweeps and their light is crippling to you. You find yourself feeling weak and you lose your grip on the Thorns.

You collapse suddenly, wracked with another fit. You’re coughing and vomiting tar and salt water onto the floor in front of you. You can hear the troll boy sobbing nearby, just past the throbbing in your head. You feel something in you snap and suddenly everything is dark. It’s soothing and after several minutes you find you can lift yourself off the floor again.

All around you is destruction. It looks like the aftermath of an atomic bomb. All the angels are dead. You can hear Abraxas moaning and keening in agony as it struggles against death to try and crush you. You see the troll, his ghost resurrecting from the aftermath of whatever just happened, his double death neither heroic nor just. It seems the rules of killing a god tier apply even in death. You pick up your Thorns and you throw yourself into the sky, racing out of this dream bubble as quickly as possible. You’re finished here. You have a screaming headache and revel in the dark void of the Furthest Ring.

 

==> Be the slightly overwhelmed troll girl.

You’re ready for another break from being the Seer and decide to check in on the rainbow drinker and her comrades on the meteor. You are the only Space player on the meteor which means you are the only one equipped to search for Rose. You find yourself daunted by this. You never ascended to god tier, you never fully realized your abilities as a Sylph of Space. And while you do seem to have innate knowledge of your Aspect—ingrained in you like an instinct—it’s muddled and weak. It would have been nice to have Jade on hand to help, but she and John were somewhere else, making their own way to the new session.

You’ve been pouring through books with renewed fervor, trying to find any information about the Furthest Ring or how to better tap your abilities as a Space player. Dave has some experience with the Furthest Ring. The horrorterrors had charged him with mapping it during his session, but he seems even more clueless than you about this.

As badly as the two of you had been itching to begin tearing through the vast expanse to search for Rose, you knew what a terrible idea that was. If you were to leave the meteor, the odds that you would ever find it again were extremely slim. The last thing any of you needed was to become stranded out here with nothing but a bunch of ghosts to keep you company.

Karkat has been riled and anxious since Rose absconded. You’re not sure if he’s worried that another member of your party might go insane and fly off to god knows where or if he’s just worried about Rose. Either way, he’s been employing his most bristled and agitated façade in order to disguise his worry. You can’t help wondering if he knows no one falls for it anymore. You theorize it’s just an instinct for him, a reaction he can’t control.

Dave has been restless. You don’t think he’s slept since Rose disappeared. You always see him looking calm and indifferent, as always, aside from some random tell. Sometimes he’ll be pacing, other times you’ve caught him fidgeting with his hands, another time you found him sitting in the common room bouncing his leg. You’ve begun to notice with further inspection that his aloof mask is imperfect. It has taken on a drawn, strained quality. Terezi tells you he has dark rings under his eyes that would put Karkat to shame.

Terezi has been the calmest. You can see signs of her own worry but she seems to be the most at peace with her inability to do anything. You see her spending a lot of time with Dave, no doubt trying to make him feel better or simply distract him.

You suppose the only reason you are not displaying the same dark circles under your eyes as the Knight is because you no longer require sleep. However you find yourself feeling frayed. You have been searching through the books ever since Rose disappeared. It is when you are halfway through a thick, obscure tome written in primarily Alternian that your party passes through its first dream bubble.

The whole thing is in ruin. You recognize the setting. It’s Eridan’s planet, LOWAA… or what’s left of it. It’s dim—not dark, but compared to how bright it used to be it was like walking into pitch darkness—and it looks like there was some great cataclysm. Corpses of angels are strewn everywhere. The wounds on their bodies are black and festering, even after expiration. The black seeps through their bright carapaces like a virus spreading through its host. There is a massive corpse in the distance, a trail of blood more akin to a river leading from the nearest ruined cathedral to its body. Its blood glows a brilliant white but it is tainted with whorls of black tar.

Among the debris you find Eridan huddled and terrified. It is a different Eridan, one from a doomed timeline. He is wearing god tier robes and he has a pair of violet wings sprouted from his back and when he looks up at you, you are greeted by a pair of glassy white eyes. Washed out purple streaks have stained his face and he’s trembling. You feel a brief pang of pity before you recall how the Eridan from your timeline had to be dealt with.

His voice is trembling harder than he is when he says your name like some great enigma, “Kan?”

You ask him what happened and his reaction is immediate. His eyes widen and you can see more pale violet tears welling in his blank eyes. He worries at his bottom lip with his fangs and wrings his hands desperately. “Some human showwed up and started askin’ me questions about Fef.” You bristle and something in your expression must have changed because Eridan pauses. “Kan?”

“Tell me more about the human,” you tell him. It’s not a request, it’s a demand. You have no doubt that it was Rose, but you need confirmation. You need to know for sure.

“Wwell, she wwas wwearin’ Seer robes, but she looked different than the humans we talked to in the Vveil.  Her eyes wwere wwhite, but different than a ghost’s. They wwere kinda glowwin’. And her skin was dark gray wwith this kinda smoke comin’ off it.” He becomes cautious as he watches your expression, which you can now feeling resolving into determination. Rose is in the dream bubbles.

“What happened?” He recounts the events of Rose’s arrival and the angels’ violent reaction to her presence. Apparently she is looking for Feferi though she wouldn’t tell him why. The angels pursued the Seer so doggedly that they had relocated four times before they ambushed en masse. Apparently even Abraxas made an appearance. You find yourself confused and worried. You weren’t aware denizens could leave their lairs. It was then that she exploded with dark energy, like some kind of grimdark bomb. She then absconded, leaving him cowering in the rubble.

After the meteor exits the dream bubble, you rush to find Dave. He’s sitting in Can Town with Terezi and the Mayor, looking disinterested and distracted. All three of them look at you as you stride into the room with renewed determination. “I know where we’ll find Rose.”

Even behind his shades you can see the way the Knight’s eyes widen and he leans towards you, betraying his curiosity. You tell them everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, I am so sorry for that little hiatus. I got Pokemon Y and I literally did nothing but play Pokemon and go to work. It was an intense two weeks of Pokemon. Sorry to have kept y'all waiting. As usual, thank you to my dear proof reader Snowanoki. You da bes, gurl.


	8. First Contact

It’s been four months since Rose succumbed to the horrorterrors and fled the meteor. You know this only because the resident Time player has been counting the passing seconds, minutes, hours, days, months… The Knight is a shadow of his former self, consumed with worry though he still refuses to admit it. Dave fluctuates through periods of insomnia, going days and days without sleep before his body can’t take it anymore, and he crashes for hours. He’s lost weight, constantly lacking in appetite. He might have starved long ago if not for Karkat and Terezi making sure he ate a little something every day. He still refuses to admit his distress and its affect on him, though he has confided some in Terezi.

Four months has taken the edge off of Karkat’s anxiety. He isn’t as quick to snap. He doesn’t watch over the lot of you as if anticipating someone to run off. There are still small signs, however, of his stubborn disquiet. You know that he makes an effort to check with the members of your party at least once a day. Every time the meteor passes through a dream bubble, he checks with everyone again. He’s been particularly attentive to you, hovering over you like some sort of anxious cluckbeast. It’s gotten rather irritating and you’ve lost your patience more than once. He means well but it always feels as if you are being reminded of your shortcomings and inadequacies. You continue to feel responsible for Rose’s descent and escape from the meteor.

Terezi has been spending the vast majority of her time with Dave. She’s the best at handling the Knight, at his best and his worst. She’s always the one to goad and chide and convince him to sleep and eat. She works to keep him distracted and from simply self-destructing. While none of you understand the whole human sibling concept, you feel just as loathsome as Dave.

It does not show in the form of lack of sleep or malnourishment. It is only visible in your demeanor. Oftentimes you will be reading or sewing and you lose focus. Sometimes it’s only a moment. Other times Karkat will storm over, ruffled up like an angry meowbeast, and demand your attention to inform you that you’ve been sitting, staring at nothing, for ten minutes. You’ve ruined more than a few garments because you simply lost focus with your foot on the pedal of your sewing machine.

The meteor has passed through dozens of dream bubbles since Rose’s disappearance. Every once in a while, you will pass through one and see evidence of her presence. She is always just ahead of you, already having left and moved on to the next bubble. Usually evidence of her presence comes only in the form of witnesses. Sometimes there is much more volatile evidence. Tar and destruction, sometimes the shadows will seem to reach for you with hungry tentacles and beaks. Writhing as if alive.

 

The meteor enters another dream bubble. The setting is familiar. You’re no longer in your respiteblock. You’re now standing in a meadow of tall grass, occasional glass sculptures curling up from the earth like colorful trees. Nearby is a tremendous fishbowl and inside you can see Feferi’s hive. It’s a behemoth, a palace. The first gate hovers tantalizing, just out of reach. Your eyes don’t linger on it for long.

Your eyes are drawn from the gate to the sky. It’s dark and foreboding clouds have formed that seem to writhe and reach. You immediately cast your eyes about, searching. First you spot the bubble’s resident, Feferi from a doomed timeline. She’s wearing the beige robes of an ascended Life player and from her back sprout two translucent, fuchsia wings. Her back is turned to you and she is looking up at something. It’s then that you see her.

She is floating, suspended in the sky, surrounded by a trapeze of tentacles. Far out of your reach. She is looking straight at you. Her eyes are empty and white, but you can feel the way they watch you. She is fierce and frightening, a vessel for the horrorterrors, imbued with all their dread and awe. Her face is drawn, as if with pain, and she clutches her Thorns like lifelines. Everything about her is dark, even the vibrant tangerine of her robes carries a dimmed hue.

“Rose,” you call out to her and you see emotions cross her features in a torrent. Even from so far away you can see her slowly tensing but you aren’t given a chance to watch her for long. She flicks her wrists gracefully, her slender fingers guiding the needles. Black magic like electricity fires from their tips and bends and arcs towards you.

In an instant your chainsaw is in your hands, you heave the starter cord with all your might and the engine roars to life. There is no room for error. You bring the weapon to bear and dig in your heels, knees bent, prepared to withstand an impact. The magic collides with the rotating teeth, you grit your own, and with a thrust to the side, the energies are deflected. The force was jarring and you feel the muscles in your arms burn from the effort. You can see another barrage firing from the Thorns and this time you leap backwards. You’ve seen what she can do. She has the power to destroy the worlds and memories in these dream bubbles. You’ve seen it first hand. She can’t break the bubbles but she can shatter the worlds held within them. The last thing you want is to let those magics get ahold of you.

You can hear Feferi moving behind you, ready to help you fight. You hear yourself shout, demanding and begging that she doesn’t interfere. You want to subdue Rose, not to impale her. There's a terrifying possibility that if she should die, her death would be just. You worry that the sea dweller will ignore your pleas and throw herself into the fray. You can see the reluctance in her expression as she forces herself to stand back.

You call Rose's name again, with more force. Again, you see the flurry of emotions: recognition, fear, anguish, conflict, confusion, pain, and rage. She looses another barrage from the Thorns and now you have to dance and parry or else you might end up worse than the Eridan you met in that first dream bubble. Only you don’t have the luxury of pseudo-immortality. If Rose kills you, you’re out for good.

Suddenly your right arm is on fire, pain lancing from your hand all the way up your arm. You nearly drop your chainsaw as you lose your grip, the weapon hanging from your left hand. A tendril of magic glanced you, striking the back of your hand. The wound is a burn but more alarming is the crackling black electricity that coils and sparks around the whole of your right arm, dissipating by your shoulder. The whole limb is painful and movement is difficult.

“Kanaya!” The sound of Feferi calling your name makes you look up as you see more volleys being thrown towards you. Clumsily you dodge but your feet tangle in the tall grass. The last bolt doesn’t hit you but the energies explode upon impact. For the first time since becoming a rainbow drinker, you feel your mind slip into unconsciousness.

 

You wake suddenly, bolting upright, and see Feferi watching you with wide, blank eyes. Obviously you startled her just as much yourself. Air floods into your lungs as you nearly choke on the first few gasps. It seems your breathing stopped at some point during unconsciousness. You can taste dried blood in your mouth and you can’t help wondering just how much damage that explosion did.

She’s removed her hood, allowing her familiar mane of hair to trail down her back. The memory of your own timeline’s Feferi, lying dead on a pile of horns, a hole blown through her chest, fills your mind momentarily. You’re quick to banish the thought. You don’t know how this Feferi died. She managed to achieve god tier, but something happened in her timeline that constituted a just or heroic death.

“Oh, it’s good to sea you awake!” Her expression of surprise quickly evolves into a relieved smile. You see her fuchsia wings flutter with excitement, glittering particles dusting from them before fading. “I wasn’t shore how well my healing powers would work on a rainbow drinker.” You look down at your right arm, all traces of the grimdark wound removed. You flex your hand for good measure.

“Thank you Feferi.” The sea dweller’s smile widens, displaying so many sharp teeth. In spite of everything, you feel the corners of your black painted lips curling upwards. She seems quite excited to see you, despite the fact that the two of you have never technically met. You can only generalize what to expect of each other. You do your best to keep the conversation pleasant but impersonal. “Can you tell me what happened after I was knocked out?” The Witch is happy to comply, giving you many excited details, though apparently there isn’t much to tell. After you were knocked out Feferi threw herself into the fray. Rose didn’t linger and absconded before the troll had even drawn her double trident.

“I don’t suppose you know why she’s looking for you?”

“She’s not looking for me! She’s looking for the Feferi from the alpha timeline.” She laughs as she watches your eyebrows involuntarily pinch together. You’re about to ask her more questions but she seems to read your mind and answers them before you can form the words. “You showed up at pretty much the same time as her, so I didn’t get a chance to talk with her. I’ve just heard things from the horrorterrors.”

You can practically feel the gears in your think pan turning, working overtime, trying to understand why they wanted a Feferi from a specific timeline. It doesn’t make any sense. Certainly this Feferi, an ascended Witch of Life, would be more useful to them. “I don’t understand.”

Fortunately you don’t need to elaborate. “They want the alpha Feferi for a handful of reasons. The first is because these are gods from the alpha timeline. She’s had the most influence on the timeline they exist in! Second, she has the most potential. Because she didn’t reach god tier they have more flexibility with her. Thirdly, she’s a Life player and with a little grooming she’ll be able to heal and revive, too.” Suddenly, she’s giggling. “And they want her because the gods are surprisingly sentimental! Gl’bgolyb may be dead but the horrorterrors still respect her bond with her.”

The last reason was perhaps the least expected answer. Sentimental is the last thing you expected the horrorterrors to be. You’ve seen what their contact has done to Rose, how it seemed like her body was going to dissolve as she resisted their influence. To you, these monstrosities were anything but benevolent.

You sit and talk with Feferi for the rest of your visit through the dream bubble. It isn’t long before the meteor exits and you’re back in the empty expanse of the Furthest Ring. You have more answers, but you still don’t know how to get Rose back. There doesn’t seem to be any way to track her, especially not when you’re confined to the meteor like this. You can only hope that it passes through the same dream bubbles that she does and that you’ll find her again before she finds her quarry. If she should locate her target before you can get to her, you’re not sure if you’ll have another chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I'm so sorry this took so long to put out. I floundered around for a while trying to figure out where to take this chapter. I didn't get really inspired until literally like three days ago. Sorry to keep y'all hanging.


	9. Ultimatum

Ever since that first confrontation with Rose you’ve been encountering her far more frequently. You’re not sure if she’s making a conscious effort to follow the same path of bubbles as your meteor but you refuse to believe it’s a coincidence. Your party has begun spending a great deal more time together in hopes that the next time you enter a bubble, you’ll be able to subdue Rose.

You hate how heavily you have to rely on Dave. No one else on the meteor can fly, so it’s up to him to ground Rose. Every time the lot of you arrive in a bubble she is already retreating, as if aware of your plans. It isn’t an unlikely notion. She is, after all, a Seer of Light.

The first time your group encountered Rose was in a dream bubble with Nepeta and Equius. Though lacking god tier robes, they were not the pair from your own timeline. The Seer had not been present for long, the occupants of the bubble only just noticing her presence. Dave didn’t hesitate. You saw him draw the Deringer as he threw himself into the sky after his grimdark sibling, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to use it against her. Frustrated, you could only watch from the ground with Karkat, Terezi, and the doomed Nepeta and Equius.

Rose was already fleeing, already vacating the bubble. Terezi drew her cane, the blades glinting against the dark light. Karkat was quick to follow her example, sickles in hand and holding them so tightly his knuckles paled. Immediately after, Nepeta’s Action Claws were brought to bear. Equius had broken another bow, tossing its fractured pieces onto the ground in front of him by the time your lipstick was in your hand. You didn’t draw your chainsaw. Not yet. You feel trepidation settle in your chest. You know none of your party are likely to use their weapons against Rose if she should come within range. You can’t attest for the bubble’s residents, however.

Dave tries desperately to cut off Rose’s retreat, but once she understands what he’s doing, she’s drawn her Thorns and trains them on the Knight. Every time he moves to intercept her, she launches a ferocious volley, magic crackling and arcing in a violent display. She doesn’t aim for him, rather she aims just ahead of him. Hope kindles painfully in your chest. Relief washes over you like a riptide, knowing the Seer isn’t completely lost to the Gods. She’s lucid enough, even in her grimdark state, to refrain from harming you.

The window of opportunity is lost and Rose vanishes before her brother can stop her. You think he intends to follow after her, throw caution to the wind, and just hope to find the meteor again. Fortunately you see Karkat step forward and beneath his apprehension, he displays genuine anger.

He’s screaming at Dave with such intensity his face quickly tints red. “Strider, don’t you even fucking think about it! I know what you’re thinking you moronic pile of shit! Get your pathetic ass down here before I do an acrobatic fucking somersault off the fucking handle and impale your screaming, disdainful wastechute on my sickles!” You and the other trolls can’t help but watch. You’re almost worried that he might work himself up too much with his shouting and hurt himself before Dave finally relents and begins his descent back to the ground. The Deringer vanishes from his hands and you are happy to put away your lipstick. You may not have retrieved Rose as you hoped, but you do know that she still has some control over her actions. She’s not lost to the horrorterrors. You’re convinced that she is deliberately entering the bubbles the meteor passes through.

She wants to be caught. The Gods are simply making it difficult.

 

“What if we killed her? Maybe once she resurrected she would be back to normal.” Karkat’s voice is hesitant, lacking in the harsh edge he usually puts on. He knows this was a delicate proposition, even if Rose would resurrect. No one is comfortable with the prospect of killing her. The resulting tension is palpable. You watch Dave’s reaction quietly, the way his features grow taut, jaw clenched, and his hands draw into fists.

Before the situation can escalate, Terezi is speaking. “Assuming anyone here would be willing to volunteer to casually murder Rose, that’s still a pretty terrible idea. There’s a strong possibility that her death will constitute as just.”

Behind his shades, you can see the tension slowly ease from the Knight’s features. He doesn’t relax—he hasn’t relaxed in four months—but he unwinds just a little now that the idea of killing Rose is off the table. Your eyes scan the rest of your party.

Karkat is tense, ruffled up a bit at the truth in Terezi’s words. Terezi’s expression remains impassive, the only outwards sign of any disquiet being the lack of her usual shark-toothed grin. You look down to your own hands which are anxiously rolling your lipstick between slender fingers.

“I believe that Rose does want to be captured. We have spotted her in the past eight dream bubbles. I think it is the horrorterrors that are causing her to abscond before we can do anything.” You can feel everyone’s eyes on you as you finally look up from your lipstick. You can see the recognition on their faces. Dave remains uncharacteristically quiet, as he has for months.

Terezi is the first to respond. “We need to formulate a plan. Something more developed than simply trying to cut off her escape route.”

All of you are thinking the same thing, though no one seems keen on saying it. Perhaps because no one really understands why. It takes nearly an hour of bouncing ideas back and forth, all of them rejected, before Dave finally speaks up. He waits for a lull in conversation before opening his mouth.

“What if we drive her towards Kanaya? Something about her stopped Rose from having episodes before she did a double pirouette into grimdark. Maybe it’ll work to get her back.”

Everyone is looking at you suddenly and you do your best not to flinch under their expectant gazes. Instead you nod determinedly. It’s as the meeting dissolves and you’re looking back at your hands for the hundredth time that you see Karkat’s concerned gaze. You don’t look up for fear of betraying your anxieties.

 

The plan your group has come up with relies heavily upon Dave. She is always suspended in the air, dark energies coiling and slithering around her like hundreds of tentacles. Everyone knows they have to work quickly or else she might find her target and vanish completely.

When she spots you alone, she lingers the longest. You can see turmoil writ all over her features. She is also more likely to attack if you find her alone. It’s when others reveal themselves that she begins to retreat. So now, when the meteor passes through a dream bubble, you seek Rose out alone. The others remain hidden, not giving themselves away. You act as bait and do everything in your power to draw her as close to the ground as you can. The farther you can get her from the edge of the bubble the better chance you’ll have of catching her.

Every strife with her becomes more difficult. She is unpredictable. Sometimes she aims to kill, other times it feels like she is simply trying to drive you off. It is impossible to determine which tactic she will employ, and she will often change multiple times in one fight. She never strays too close, always keeping a distance between you and herself. There’s always a medley of expressions on her face as she alternates between trying to kill you and trying to drive you away. The most common ones are anguish, pain, and then anger. You’re convinced this is the Gods’ influence on display.

She has evaded your party multiple times. You’ve reached an ultimatum.

 

==> Be the Seer.

_It’s difficult. HAUGHAUUHTHR’L SHGVB. The Seer is very—GORTHYTCH GYL’ULB—preoccupied. With a bit of—SHGVB THROL KNRYIP SVULK—perseverance, the Gods allow you to be the Seer._

Your mind had been relatively quiet upon beginning your hunt for the Witch. The Gods were kind enough to leave your mind with whispers rather than screams so you could do what they asked. You’ve been through so many bubbles, talked to so many ghosts, you get a little weary just thinking about it. You haven’t rested in months. You’re not sure you remember what food is. You’ve felt a great deal of frustration. You’ve found at least a dozen different incarnations of the Witch of Life, but none have been the alpha Witch.

Ever since your encounter with Kanaya— _THE L IGH T—_ in the bubble with the doomed Feferi— _WITCH OF L I F E—_ you find yourself chasing her. Her light— _L I… T LIGHT—_ is painful. It burns your eyes and you can feel in your bones that if you get too close you’ll have a painful episode of coughing and retching and vomiting and shattering.

_SHA TTERIN G_

Whenever you find her alone, the Gods are cacophonous and deafening. They scream and beat against the inside of your eyes, trying to get out and destroy her themselves.

_DESTROY THE L… IG…T_

_K…L IT RIPITTEARSM OTH…RIT_

_S E E R_

Their voices are loud and make your head ache until you’re sure it will simply split open. Yet, when you see her, sometimes their voices will fade out for just a moment. The screaming and screeching and cracking and spitting is replaced by a quiet hum before they’re back in full force.

You always feel your hands acting before you understand what’s happening. With a flick of your wrists the Thorns are in your hands and trained on the rainbow drinker and her painful glow. You want to stop, you scream at yourself to stop, but words never leave your mouth. Your body betrays you as black magic arcs from the ends of the needles and spirals and zigzags towards her.

Horror fills you as you watch her draw her chainsaw and instead of dancing away, out of the magic’s trajectory, she stands her ground. You want to scream at her to move, to get out. You see the energies collide with the whirring teeth of the chainsaw and you can see the strain in her expression. Her fangs are bared as she grits her teeth, her eyes are fierce and determined. You can see the way she bears her weight heavily on her left leg, braced behind her with the heel of her flats digging into the snowy earth. She’s shifting more and more of her weight onto her left leg and you feel dread flare up in your chest, afraid she overestimated herself and that she is going to fall. You think you can see translucent jade beading on her face. You’re almost certain you can see her arms trembling from the effort, about to give.

Then, suddenly, she’s twisting and the magic is thrown aside like a stone. When it impacts the distant earth, it explodes with terrible, volatile energy. You are glad she is unhurt but you are not allowed to rest as suddenly the Gods scream and click and snarl with frustration. To them, she is the most offensive creature. Her light is painful and blinding. It makes you feel as if you are being burned alive, your skin curling and peeling and incinerating beneath her luminescence. The horrorterrors’ rage seeps into your own mind, unbidden. They do everything they can to influence your actions, but it is harder for them to reach you inside the bubbles.

Against your will you are firing more magic at her, needles crackling and sparking with each volley. This time she does not stand her ground and you can see her leaping away gracefully, her skirt fluttering with her movements.

_KILLITEXTINGUISHI…URD…RIT_

_S…TH…ERTHE L I G H…T_

Their words scream in your head but it’s sometimes hard to hear them. Sometimes that pleasant hum fills your head during the breaks in their voices and you wish you could fall into it. Your mind has been a tempest for so long, you miss the quiet.

You are forced to pursue her as she moves farther and farther from your needles. She alternates between dodging and parrying, never able to stand her ground for too long. No matter how hard you try, you can never hit her. Sometimes you want to, others you just try to warn her away. The both of you are uncertain of each other.

But then something in her demeanor shifts. She’s breathing heavily, jade sweat dripping down her face, but confidence has flowed into her posture. Then, suddenly, you see a scarlet blur and you understand instantly what has happened.

Rage and relief and disbelief and solace fill you as you understand what has happened. You turn to face your new aggressor and your hands tremble as the Gods _COMM AN D_ you to _K ILL_ him. Dave has cut off your path of retreat. He has the Deringer drawn and suddenly he is striking at you. You bring up the Thorns in a cross and catch the broken blade on them. Dark energy sparks upon impact.

He strikes again and you quickly realize your brother is driving you towards the ground. A glance behind you reveals that Karkat and Terezi have joined Kanaya on the ground and they are all prepared, weapons drawn and bodies tense. You try to flank around him, try to get away, but the Knight is fast. Every time you think you see an opening he is in front of you and the blade is driving at you again and you can either block or let him impale you on a broken sword. So you bring your needles together again and can only allow yourself to be driven back further.

He is advancing and relentless. You realize you can’t read his expression and you feel a pang of guilt. The Noble Circle latches onto the feeling desperately, using it as an anchor to try to get a better hold on you. It’s always harder for them to reach you in the sanctuary of their bubbles.

_S EE R_

_L I… FROBITT…H ITCK’UL BRUP…_

_RETR…EA—FNLTH OTOT_

Suddenly you feel weak and wretched. A familiar sensation is creeping up on you and suddenly you are trembling. You drop your Thorns and you are doubled over, coughing and hacking and vomiting. You don’t have to wait for lungfuls of tar to break loose, it’s almost as if your entire body is filled with the grimdark phlegm. Every convulsion yields more and when you’re not wracked with coughs, you’re vomiting salt water in copious amounts. You wheeze and can feel tears streaming down your face from the splitting pain and effort of the episode.

After several momens you can’t keep yourself in the air any longer. You stumble and collapse, falling like a stone the remaining distance to the ground. But you never feel yourself hit the ground. Instead there are arms holding you and slowly the pain subsides. Your breathing comes ragged and shallow, but you can feel the Gods tentacles driven from your mind. You can feel yourself, without the touch of the horrorterrors. You no longer see the Witch every time you blink, reminding you of your mission.

Your eyes are filled with the luminescence of her skin and you want to bask in it forever. You look up and see the jade-tinted gray of her irises and the warm amber of her sclera. Her lips are painted black and you can see the worry and relief in her smile. You can see her lips move as she speaks but you can’t hear her past the thunder of the headache in your skull. You can feel the corners of your mouth tugging up in, what you can only imagine is, a feeble smile. Exhausted, you rest your head on the rainbow drinker’s shoulder before you lose consciousness in the sanctuary of her arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are wrapping up. There's only going to be one, maybe two chapters after this one. I hope y'all have enjoyed it. Thanks for all the Kudos and comments. c:


	10. Sarabande

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me so incredibly long to put this final chapter up. I have some excuses as to why it took a while, but not any for it taking as long as it did. But, it's done! I hope you guys like it! I might write some little one shots or something for it in the future!  
> Huge thanks to my proofreader/girlfriend for all her support!

==> Be the Seer

You can’t be the Seer. She’s presently unconscious.

==> Be the Seer anyway.

Well, if you really insist…

Your breathing comes in heavy, weak rasps. Every once in a while you feel something cold on your face and it’s only then that you realize how hot the rest of your body feels. Sometimes you regain consciousness for a few moments and it’s then that you’re filled with pain. Your bones feel like they’re filled with magma and you can’t stop yourself from retching up copious amounts of tar. Your body convulses and you’re vomiting salt water and your entire being trembles with the effort. You can barely open your eyes and when you do, your vision is bleary and swimming. Sometimes you can glimpse a pale light and you are filled with relief but you don’t know why. Your consciousness is muddled and confusing.

Even in your sorry state you know how incredibly ill you are. You’re sure the only thing keeping the fever from killing you is your godhood. Your sleep is filled with nightmares. Fortunately these nightmares are only memories. You will never forget the sensation of the Gods touching your mind and you will never take for granted the feeling of their absence. Sometimes your sleep is thick and dreamless, other times you dream of the horrorterrors and their terrible clicking and screeching and their beaks and tentacles and millions of teeth and eyes. You are grateful that their murmurs and screams no longer make any sense. Sometimes you will hear a familiar voice and you can see them in your mind. Dave and Kanaya’s voices are the most common. Sometimes you hear Karkat or Terezi, but they seem happy to let you rest.

You don’t know how long you’ve been unconscious or how long you will be. You only wish the pain would stop. Every time you dream of the Gods you can feel your entire body rattle and convulse, you recall their now nonsensical language and you feel yourself retching.

 

==> That’s enough of that. Be the Sylph.

It’s been five days, according to Dave, since Rose was successfully retrieved. She has been unconscious ever since, stirring only occasionally to cough and vomit before passing out again. While you lack knowledge of basic human anatomy, such as a healthy body temperature, the Knight of Time informs you that she is running a horrible fever. It would make sense, considering the way her body trembles endlessly and a coat of sweat always adorns her skin.

The dark light had been the first sign of her grimdarkness to fade, completely dissipated after only a few minutes. Her skin tone had been slower to restore, slowly bleaching to her natural pale tone after a couple days. The very brief glimpses you’ve seen of her eyes have revealed their restoration to lavender, no longer blank and vaguely luminescent. It’s been impossible to test any of her other symptoms due to her extended periods of unconsciousness.

You have not left her room since her return, fearful of the high possibility that the horrorterrors might claim her again. Every so often Karkat will stomp in and you know he wants to throw a fit, to tell you to take a break, maybe get some rest, and stop obsessing over the Seer. The first time he visited, he was puffed up and you felt irritation settle in as he took a dramatically deep breath and began to shout about you needing a break. Rose groaned weakly in her sleep and you could feel yourself puffing up just as much to match his own agitation. He only got a few words out before you cut him off with a hiss.

“I do not know if you noticed, Karkat, but Rose is rather compromised at the moment. The last time I left her alone she fell to the horrorterrors and we spent five perigees trying to get her back. As much as I might like to go out and stretch my legs or do anything else, I find it rather difficult to justify doing so.” Your tone is harsh and it makes the Knight hesitate, looking at the unconscious human for the first time since entering the room. Even though her skin and eyes have returned to normal, she is still weak with sickness and fever. Her breathing is loud and raspy, filling the silence, as if to further prove your point. Even for a couple of trolls who know nothing about human biology, it is painfully obvious that she is very ill. Karkat had begrudgingly apologized and offered to bring you anything—in his roundabout, overly aggressive way. He seemed to have taken the hint and no longer shouted.

Dave visited frequently, though he didn’t often stay for too long. He was recovering as well, catching up on lost sleep and gaining back the weight he had lost. Terezi would always visit with him, constantly monitoring him. While he no longer had to be forced to eat or sleep, he was prone to ignoring his body’s compromised state. You have a feeling the teal blood has been having a harder time than you, and you certainly don’t envy her. Taking care of a Strider put your own undertaking into perspective.

By the seventh day, Rose’s fever broke briefly and she was lucid for a little while. Her breathing wasn’t so labored and when she opened her eyes, they glanced around slowly before settling on you. Solace filled you to the brim and you felt your lips breaking into a smile without your consent. She remained pale and weak, but to see her responsive was a much needed respite.

Her voice was tremulous and you made sure to listen closely, fearful you might not hear her. “Kanaya…” She pauses for a while and you’re almost unsure if she intends to continue. Just as you’re certain she has nothing left to say, she inhales and resumes speaking. “I intend to be more forthright with you in the future.”

You’re not sure what she means. The context is vague and you know she doesn’t intend to elaborate. You hesitate, mulling over your answer. You aren’t sure what she means, but you are certain she means well from the feeble smile on her lips. “I look forward to it.” Your voice fills the silence and she seems to find some comfort in your words, her expression softening. You feel her hand on yours and you glance at your hands, uncertain, before looking back to her. But she is no longer looking at you, her eyes closed again. You’re not sure if she’s fallen asleep again or if she is merely resting, but you can’t bring yourself to disturb her. So, you hesitantly shift your hand so your fingers are entwined.

You think you see her smile strengthen.

 

By the eighth day, her fever is back. It is not as high, but she is wracked with shivers and tremors. She stirs more often to cough and retch and you have had to roll her onto her side for fear that she might choke in her sleep. The tar seems to have lost its toxicity, no longer volatile and acidic. It used to readily eat holes through the floors, even after being smothered with the only known solvent. You are confident that Rose is on the mend, even in spite of her returned delirium. She groans weakly in her sleep, sometimes keening or whimpering and you see her curling in on herself and you have to put down your book. You set it aside and move closer to her, running your hands across her face and through her pale hair. And she’s on her side and pushing herself up against yours, clutching to you tightly, even in her sleep. You can only imagine what sort of nightmares she is having and you can only do so much to soothe her.

You murmur quietly to her as she buries her face in the side of your thigh and clutches to your side desperately, her entire body trembling with fever or fear. You can hear the way her bones splinter with every inhale and rattle with every exhale. Just for them to mend so they can do it all over again. Even with all your practiced confidence and your assurance that she is recovering, you are still afraid for her. The toll her descent has taken on her body is disturbing and you can only be grateful that she is god tier because you aren’t sure she could recover if she wasn’t.

You hear her whimper apologies and you’re not sure if they’re for you or someone else or anyone at all. You can only stroke her hair and her face and her back and hope that it can bring her any comfort in her delirium. After several moments, she seems to relax. The nightmare passed or, perhaps, she has simply fallen far enough back into sleep that her discomfort does not show. As her body relaxes, you prepare yourself, doing your best to disentangle from her just enough to reach the trash can you keep on the floor by the bed.  The coughing fits follow occasional patterns and this is one. You only have to wait a moment and suddenly she is sitting upright, propped on her arm, and her body convulsing. Mouthfuls of grimdark phlegm readily flows past her lips and land in the trashcan. She grits her teeth and tries to stop the coughing but it only rushes through her stubbornly sealed lips.

The fit lasts several minutes before finally she sits, teetering as if she might collapse. Her eyes are half lidded and weary and her lips and chin are smeared with tar. There are streaks from where it ran from her nostrils and it drips lazily like molasses from the tip of her nose. She is pale and trembling and slowly her miserable lilac eyes look up from the trash can to you and her expression softens. You offer her a towel to wipe the residue from her face, which she wearily takes. The moment she has cleaned her face and hands and you take the cloth, she is collapsing again onto the bed. Her golden hair is askew and her bangs stick to her skin and you feel a tightness in your chest as you dispose of the soiled cloth.

 

By the fifteenth day her temperature has returned to normal and she seems to have recovered. She is lucid and conscious and suddenly ravenous. You are alarmed when she wakes up and abruptly vacates the bed.

“Rose? Where are you going?” You ask her tentatively. You continue to fear that she might succumb to the horrorterrors in your absence. In spite of spending the past two weeks unconscious and struggling to recover, she seems happy and energetic.

The Seer turns and looks at you after slipping her feet into her light blue slippers. “Every once in a while we humans have to venture forth and find some form of sustenance. Doctors would often suggest three meals a day for the average human. Some even suggest several small meals throughout a single 24 hour period. I’ve managed to stray from the norm, however, and I do believe it has been months since my last meal. Unless you managed to feed me while I was unconscious, of course.”

She must be feeling a great deal better, judging from the sarcasm and how verbose her response is. You remain cautious regardless, fearful of any relapses. You move from your seat on the bed, feeling your stiff joints protest at the movement. You start as you hear a loud pop come from Rose’s side of the room and she heaves a sigh of relief as she stretches. You do not ask her permission to accompany her and she does not ask you to leave. She smiles at you as she moves to the door and you follow closely into the dim corridor.

It is a short walk to the transportalizer and you rematerialize in the kitchens. Dave is seated at the table, bundled up in his cape, and shoveling spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth. His hair is messy in some places and matted in others. His glasses are slightly askew and he slouches with all the vitality of a corpse. He redirects his gaze from the vacant wall across the room to look at the pair of you. The contrast between the ectosiblings could not be starker. The Knight is groggy and you can practically see his think pan warming up, while the Seer has been quick and energetic since hopping out of bed.

“Yo, Lalonde. You’re looking chipper. You done with that Lifetime Drama coma yet, or can we look forward to another episode next week?” Dave’s lazy smirk slides into place right on schedule. You’re getting better at picking up on Dave’s half-truths and sarcasm, but the references he makes are lost on you. Instead you do your best not to hover about Rose as she finds herself some sustenance. Absently you feel hunger gnawing at you as well and wish it was as easily sated by a bowl of saccharine puffs.

Rose is digging through a cabinet through various cans and boxes as she articulates her own snarky response. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Strider, but unfortunately I do believe I’m done with any near-death shenanigans for now. Maybe Karkat could loan you one of his novels. They aren’t quite as riveting as these past few months, but hopefully they will be sufficient to satisfy your inner housewife.”

You remain quiet, watching Rose as she looks for something appealing. You are doing your best not to flit around her the way Karkat did to you, remembering how irritated it made you. Watching her, you can see how much weight she has lost since her descent. Her robes hang loosely on her now and she seems almost delicate.

The Seer collects a meal of fruit and toasted bread and she even takes a share of Dave’s cereal, much to his extensive protest. She interrupts his groaning with a sly smirk and a quirked eyebrow. “Why, Mr. Strider, I can’t believe you would begrudge a lady her sustenance after spending a fortnight on her deathbed.”

The nonchalance with which they discuss Rose’s grimdark transgressions is something you’re not sure you will ever be able to mimic. You know by now that this is simply how Rose Lalonde and Dave Strider deal with things, especially more troubling matters. You linger at the counter while the two ectosiblings sit and eat and discuss things in their usual detached, joking tones. Dave is smiling and you find yourself relieved to see the pair of them acting normally again. You remain quiet, hearing but not really paying attention to the conversation.

After several moments you notice Dave transportalize from the room, leaving you alone with the Seer again. There are a few moments of silence as Rose finishes the last of her cereal before she breaks the silence.

“Would you care to join me at the table, Kanaya?” You are removed from your reverie by the sound of her voice and have to take a moment to understand what she said. After a brief hesitation, you cross the room to the small table and seat yourself across from her. She has finished eating and now her plate and bowl sit empty on the table. She smiles at you and you think you feel your bloodpusher work a little faster.

She bridges her fingers and rests her chin atop her hands, looking slightly weary but happy. You wonder how long it will take for her to be fully restored. Even in her diminished, almost gaunt state she is vibrant and lively. You find yourself fidgeting and so you are happy to distract yourself by getting up to make some tea. You can feel her gaze follow you and you don't have to look at her to know her smile has taken on a note of amusement. She knows you are doing this in lieu of fidgeting and you know she knows.

"Would you like some tea?" You figure as long as you're up and making some, the least you can do is be hospitable.

"Yes, please," you can hear the mirth in her voice and you are simply too grateful knowing she is well again to be embarrassed. You set aside two of the better cups, the majority of which are the obscure fruits of boredom and an alchemiter and others simply broken. You lean on the counter as you wait for the water to boil and the two of you make conversation, mostly Rose inquiring to everyone's well being since her descent. You relay to her the events on the meteor during her absence and you aren't sure if you imagine the way her posture becomes stiffer and slightly rigid.

Inside the kettle you can hear the water beginning to roil about as it nears boiling temperature. The pot begins to whine noisily and you are quick to remove it from the burner and begin to pour it into the cups. You are interrupted as you hear the groan of chair legs moving across the linoleum floor and you can hear the Seer suddenly coughing and retching.

You turn swiftly, seeing Rose stumbling and suddenly she vomits tar onto the floor. She clenches her mouth shut, trying to stymie the phlegm, but her body convulses again and it stubbornly oozes from between her lips and fingers that she has clamped over her mouth. She chokes and she has to open her mouth to let more of the tar flow from her lungs and stomach. Adamant, she tries to force the episode to stop by giving the grimdark phelgm no route of escape. Instead it oozes from her nostrils and she can only vomit again or else she can drown in it.

You see her trembling and suddenly you are dropping the kettle, hot water spilling as it hits the floor with a clangor. Before you the Seer is collapsing and you fear she might fall before you can reach her. But then your hands are on her and you are holding her to you, her back pressed against your chest and she leans against you. You hold her tightly and press your face into the soft hair on the back of her head. And just as abruptly as the episode began, it subsides.

You feel her sigh with relief and her entire body is trembling. Her breathing is heavy and ragged and you can feel her fatigue in the way she leans on you. All her vitality has been sapped by the episode and you are grateful when she accepts your offer to help her back to bed. You can't even leave a note with sincerest apologies to whichever poor soul is the first to enter the kitchens because you don't have the time to clean up the tar or the hot water. You can't simply come back and clean it, either. You still fear leaving Rose unattended, not willing to make the same mistake again.

You had been hesitant to use the transportalizers; they would make the journey much shorter but two people cannot pass through at the same time. She must have sensed your trepidation because she assured you she was fine and forced her trembling legs to hold herself up and onto the transportalizer. With a flash, she is gone. Quickly you follow after her and when you appear on the other end you see she is now on the floor. You make no comment and help her to her feet knowing that, even in her present state, Rose is a proud creature. You know she must be feeling wretched if she allows herself to lean on you with no complaint or snark.

You adhere to her shuffling pace without complaint, the only illumination in the dark corridor being that of your own natural luminescence. Rose feels warm and you are unsure if you are just imagining it. You think perhaps she might have a slight fever but, overall, this episode has been rather merciful. At one point the Seer stops, her breathing heavy and slightly ragged. It lacks the rattling quality but at times it still sounds like it might tear her lungs to tatters. After a brief respite she continues down the hall and finally the two of you arrive in her respiteblock. You help her onto the bed and she collapses onto the mattress with a great weight. She sighs and lets herself lay how she fell for a moment before she finally adjusts to something more comfortable.

You have to stop yourself from wringing your hands, anxiety bubbling like a stream in your chest. “Is there anything else I can do to make you comfortable?”

Her eyes which had slipped shut open and focus on you in a brilliant shock of lavender. She seems to be recovering now that she is resting and she smiles in spite of whatever discomfort she is feeling. “I hate to impose upon you further, but if you don’t mind my pitiful company I would certainly enjoy yours.”  You are surprised by her forwardness but grateful she still has not grown weary of your company. You move to the other side of the bed and sit next to her. Rose seems to relax, releasing some tension you hadn’t noticed until it was removed.

She rests for a while and you have no idea how much time passes; being in the Furthest Ring certainly doesn’t make it any easier to discern how long it’s been. After a period of time that could have been a minute or a week, impossible discern without a Time player, she opens her eyes again. Her skin seems to have regained its color and she doesn’t seem to constantly tremble. Slowly she moves herself into a more upright position, resting against the pillows and turning to look at you.

“Kanaya do you remember what I said the first time my fever broke?” Her voice sounds a bit thick from sleep but she is completely coherent.

You look at her with surprise at such a sudden question and then try to pick your brain for what she had said. After a moment of scouring your think pan, you manage to vaguely grasp her feverish words. “Something about being more forthright?”

She smiles and nods her head, looking pensive but optimistic. “That is the basic principle, yes. I was unable to articulate further given my compromised state, but what I meant is that I would like to try being more honest, with you specifically. Prior to my… descent, I knew to some extent that something about you helped to keep the horrorterrors at bay. I also found your natural incandescence very soothing. Unfortunately, I was too proud to admit it until I was too far gone, your luminescence couldn’t save me, but only worked instead as life support; buying me time. The only cost was that the moment you left my company, I would be lost. But, this is only a fraction of what I wanted to tell you now that I have regained lucidity. I hope it would not be too forward of me to say this, but recently I have begun harboring feelings for you. I began noticing things like how your expressions become so very candid when you read. The way your cheeks flush a lovely shade of Jade when you are embarrassed and how you always carry yourself with a great deal of dignity and grace. Another feature of yours I’ve come to appreciate is the way your radiance makes your features that much more dramatic. I suppose the way a troll would fashion what I’m trying to express is that I am feeling flushed for you.”

Admirably, Rose does not stutter or even let her expression falter as she speaks. She does a very good job at being more forthright, as promised, and you don’t know why you expected any less. Rose Lalonde is like a glacier. As she continues you do your best to fight off the jade blush she seems to enjoy so much, with some degree of success. However, you lose your composure when you hear her finish and you would hate to think of how green your face must be if your think pan was willing to function.

You struggle not to stutter while your bloodpusher threatens to hammer its way out of your chest cavity and you don’t understand why it is so frantic; you are not one for bashfulness. “Well, I’m glad we are at least of a similar mind. Which is to say that I must admit to perhaps feeling similarly. Even when I began to suspect you were unwell, I still had the capacity to appreciate your own beauty. Of course, I said nothing. It would have been poorly timed by the point at which I realized the nature of my appreciation. I don’t want to be any less forthright so, I suppose I shall take this opportunity to say for myself that I feel the same.”

There was a moment of awkwardness, quasi trepidation. A moment of “what now.” The two of you had made clear your feelings and, to some degree, your intentions. Yet, while Rose was the kind of woman to take what she wanted, this was unfamiliar territory. Meanwhile your last attempts at red solicitation never amounted to anything and now the object of those affections is as dead as your feelings. You had been immature with her and regretted holding a grudge when you never even told her why. You are just as lost as she is and for a just a moment the both of you flounder in silence, watching each other with something akin to caution.

Then she glances down from your eyes to your lips, something lightning fast and almost undetectable. It sends something electric through you and you find yourself repeating the gesture, wetting your own lips with your tongue without even meaning to. And then both of you are leaning towards each other to press your mouths together because both of you have been imagining it for so long to hold off any longer borders on painful. And at first it is awkward and chaste as you both fear being too forward and your noses smoosh together and you both break apart to laugh a little breathlessly.

And then she turns to sit facing you and her hand reaches out to tangle her fingers with yours. Then, more carefully, she leans forward again and you move just far enough to meet her. It starts with something soft, lips brushing gently before pulling apart. Slowly, the two of you grow more confident. Breaking for moments or years at a time to murmur quietly to each other. Sometimes your kisses become more than gentle touches and the two of you break apart for breath after an eternity of tasting each other. For the first time in ages, the two of you feel quiet and at peace. She is not ill or lost, you are not gripped with guilt or ferocity. You are simply two aliens who happen to have found something in each other to love. While you are riding a meteor rocketing through an abyss occupied only by many-mouthed monsters, there is solace in each other’s company. You can’t stop the horrorterrors anymore than you can know what Rose is thinking. But there is a warmth in her eyes and mouth and body that you find soothing like a sarabande.


End file.
